Moments
by Fallen Grace
Summary: Oh, dear... This is what happens to those unfortunate souls who watch Sense and Sensibility while listening to Fiona Apple under the influence of cough syrup and Biaxin. Do not read this unless you're prepared for some badly-written, disgustingly unreali


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Moments

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by Grace

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Love-ridden, I've looked at you

With the focus I gave to my birthday candles

I've wished on the lidded blue flames

Under your brow

And baby, I wished for you

Nobody sees when you are lying in your bed

And I wanna crawl in with you

But I cry instead

- Fiona Apple,_ Love Ridden_

God, I hate being like this. It's like I've become a neurotic, lovesick teenager encased in my own body. Which does not appreciate the addition. And reacts accordingly. 

It's not like I can't _function_. In fact, I do a pretty good job of hiding this... this... whatever it is. I don't think even my roommate knows. And of course, _he _has no clue. But he wouldn't. Naive, oblivious, clueless...

But the thing is that I know it's there. Actually, there isn't one single moment of the day I **don't** know it's there. Most of the time, I can keep it in check. I only feel it quietly tugging at me, urging me always to say the words that would completely reveal it and heal me while hurting me at the same time. I have to fight it.

But then there are the _moments._

All the women out there know what I'm talking about. It's in the all the romance novels, in all the Jane Austen works, in every chick-flick ever made. You start to experience them about fifth grade, and force of what you've felt, even then, almost knocks you over. 

It's those times when he says something amazingly sweet (which surprises him more than it does you), or the times he gives you the puppy dog look. It's the times when you both forget your titles and the fact that you're of the opposite sex, and just act for a moment as _people._ It's the times when he compliments your dress, and you know he's not bs-ing you. It's the times he tells you that you should be put on a stamp and means it.

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Those are the moments, and rare as they are, they're what make you fall in love with the man. They're not what make you stay in love with him, but they give you that little push to get you started. And just when you think maybe you can get over it, another one comes along and – **_wham! _**– a wave of mushiness and similar emotions washes over you and you're completely struck witless with the knowledge that you really do love Josh Lyman after all, and you _can't_ get over it. 

I'm not the kind of woman who sits around pondering these things until she's blue in the face, nor am I the kind of woman who's afraid to go after what she wants. But I am not an idiot. 

Let's take in the situation: You're in love with your boss. You work in the White House, where he is a senior staff member. Trying to make it happen would be a PR disaster, to say the least. Both your jobs would be toast, and the entire West Wing would be in trouble.

This is not what bothers me. 

What bothers me is that he doesn't love me back. It's obvious. There's no way he could. Sure, he complimented my dress and told me I should be put on a stamp, but that's because we're friends. We're **good** friends, whether or not it seems like it most of the time. Trying to force him into something he completely doesn't want would destroy that friendship and he would be out of my life entirely. 

Not that this probably wouldn't be a good thing, really. The little monster tugging at me all the time would be gone. No more waves, either. It could only be good for my sanity. And yet, I don't want to leave him, ever, because it would be like... like an amputation. It'd be like chopping off my right arm without any painkillers, and I know I'd feel the effects for the rest of my life in one form or another. I'm really afraid I'd become one of those old women who has ninety demented cats and talks to her tomato plants about how she left the love of her life in Washington D.C. and was never the same. 

Then, having come to the realization that you're going to be in love with him and there's nothing you can do about it, you go through the stages of denial, sadness, anger, and finally, acceptance. I have seen each one, and believe me, it's a real bitch. 

The denial thing lasts about a week from the moment that you realize you love him to the the next moment when you realize you can't stop. In between times, you strain yourself to act normal and attempt to kill any thoughts about how nice he looks in blue. This does not work. 

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Then he does one of those sweet things and you know you're going to have to surrender to this, which depresses you when you see all the aforementioned barriers separating you from, "...and they lived happily ever after." So you cry. You rent _Titanic_ and _Romeo and Juliet_, and you cry hysterically for a good twelve hours. 

Then you get angry. No man worth your tears would make you cry, you think. Men are scum. THEY MUST DIE. This is when you buy some Fiona Apple/Alanis Morisette and listen to it constantly. You learn all the lyrics by heart. 

After awhile, another moment hits and there's no getting out of it. You can't be angry at him for very long. You're forced to resign yourself to the cycle forever.

And you do it willingly. This is when you know you have gone crazy. 

What's next? I really need to know. I'd like to think this is a phase, a silly infatuation brought on by hormones and too much coffee. I'd like to think I'll grow out of it, but I know better. And then I have to ask, what's next? 

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A/N: Oh my God, that was bad. I couldn't help it! Don't hold me responsible, that thing just wrote itself... Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry...... I don't own Donna or Josh... SORRY!!!! And have a nice day! ^_^ 


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